


In the Woods Somewhere

by theherochild



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demon, Hozier, Human!Crowley, M/M, angel - Freeform, aziraphale - Freeform, but here we are, crowley - Freeform, good omens - Freeform, i wrote this while listening to hozier’s first album and i hope you can see that in the writing, implied internalized homophobia i think, kind of but not really, takes place in the 50s bro, this wasn’t supposed to see the light of day tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 14:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherochild/pseuds/theherochild
Summary: Men weren't supposed to love one another, Crowley wasn't supposed to love Aziraphale (even if it was damn obvious that Aziraphale didn't love him back). And yet, the mortal man found himself drawn from his bed besides his sleeping wife in favor of laying beneath the stars with a man too beautiful to be real, to be human.





	In the Woods Somewhere

_Albany, New York, 1957_

A male with hair a rouge rivaled only by that of a bleeding sunset lay in the middle of a lonely forest, moss tickling his neck and the soft emissions of Mother Nature his ears. Obscuring his view from the midnight sky was the green canopy, a serene sheet slowly smothering him and concealing the twinkling stars.

He was silent, chartreuse eyes open and unmoving as if he were nothing more than a corpse; a young boy who had climbed a tree an inch too high, took a hit too many of his favorite pretty little drug, or glanced away from the road a second too long. But Crowley, unfortunately, remained among the living, a quality he despised most about himself.

 _Crowley,_ the wind whispered, gently caressing his cheek and attempting to lull him into the eternal sleep he so desired, a plot that had begun hours before when the man in question had slipped out of his bedroom window, abandoning his sleeping wife in their bed and his simple, golden ring on his bureaux. After he had ran until he could no more - feeling from the artificial lights of the suburban street, the cry of children he couldn’t find it in his cold, dying heart to care for, and the being so often snuggled against him void of any warm - Crowley fell to his knees, breath escaping him.

He hadn’t moved since, unsure if he could even if he felt like making an effort.

_Crowley._

His eyes opened, the unnatural rustling of air catching his attention. But there wasn’t a bird in sight and when he slowly lifted himself to his elbows, he instead was met with another man.

“Not exactly the prime stargazing spot is it now, love?” the man asked, a gentle smile across his lips, lips that Crowley, over their years together, knew quite well. The light skin that surrounded his sacred skin seemed to glow in the pale moonlight, what little shone through the thick branches above, and his eyes brighter still. A glimmer in the pale blues flecked with gold, rousing a small chuckle out of his darker-minded counterpart.

“Well, angel, between the two of us I’m sure we’ll spot something.”

The man, christened Aziraphale, offered a celestial grin before settling besides Crowley, palms sinking into the dirt damp with midsummer’s tears. He released a soft sigh, Crowley’s body tensing slightly.

Another weekly outing with the man God had crafted to carry his heart, but only in secret. The trees were their only witnesses, they made sure of that.

“You weren’t waiting for long, were you?” Aziraphale asked after a minute, the leaves humming beneath him as he adjusted his hands. Fidgeting, for one reason or another, although Crowley hadn’t the slightest idea why the other was so nervous, always so nervous. They were alone, no one knew about them, and even so, they were only mortal, the God the world worshipped couldn’t fault them for that.

And so the lie fell from Crowley as easily as the sun from the sky, a simple, “No, not at all. The wife was needy, tonight. Thought I was the one keeping you waiting.”

“Lucky for us then, isn’t it?”

The foreign god Luck had never even glanced their way, let alone bothered to bless them with her presence.

An uneasy silence followed the blond’s words, neither daring to move. And they didn’t, at first, always hesitant and simply enjoying the time spent with someone that truly understood what it was like to be-

Aziraphale released a small laugh far more luminous than the situation called for and Crowley opened his eyes. Not even Satan himself was capable of stopping them, forcing the Holy Spirit between them and keeping Aziraphale from leaning over Crowley to press his lips ever so softly against his partner’s.

Eden hadn’t bore fruit as sweet as Aziraphale’s lips or as deadly as the firm grip of his hands that could turn a man from God quicker than a sapient serpent whispering in his ear.

And in the same suit, the wind continued to whisper Crowley’s name, pushing their bodies closer without giving either man a say in the matter. Not that they would do anything else, want it any other way.

Hands ran up and down the plains and valleys of Crowley’s torso, Aziraphale well-versed in the other’s body and how to please him but not wanting to rush. He never did, sometimes to Crowley’s dismay. But he couldn’t fault him for it, not when their familiar and slow pace was enough. More than enough.

Crowley moaned against him, one hand tugging at the near-colorless strands to pull him closer still, the fingers of his other hand pressing into his hip and surely leaving a pretty array of bruises.

“Patience,” Aziraphale mumbled, dismantling their lips as his mouth trailed down Crowley’s jaw, lingering just beneath his ear and nibbling, waves of pleasure coursing through him.

A string of curses left Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale unable to hide the way his lips turned and his eyes, normally so bright and lovely, darkened. It was a part of him that only Crowley ever saw, a part that he carried with him every hour of the day - waking or otherwise.

“Get on with it, then.” huffed Crowley, the inside of his cheek between his teeth as he stared up at Aziraphale, at his angel incarnate.

And so he did, eyes darkening to a demonic pitch.

Their bodies fell together, moving rhythmically in a manner only two people experienced with one another could manage. And experienced they were for their thirty years on Earth - as far as Crowley was concerned, at least. He had never had anyone else the way he had Aziraphale, never felt the way he did about anyone else. Not with his wife or the few girls he had had his way with in order to preserve appearances.

Not even with another man, as few as there had been, whether it be because he had happened across boys that hadn’t known what to do or that being in love with Aziraphale heightened the sensation of his touch.

A mixture of both, he assumed, and when the Heavens parted, shattering his world with a deep moan twin to Aziraphale’s, he knew that it was true. He loved him the way a woman her job, a husband his neighbor’s wife, a Catholic-born child science.

Forbidden but true, and utterly unbreakable.

And when he parted his lips to confess this realization, admit that their outings were more than sex to him, Aziraphale slipped out of him and pulled his clothes on without a word or explanation. Buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants before sliding his shoes on and adjusting his bow tie. “Same time next week, then?”

The fire beneath Crowley’s skin flickered out as he nodded, forcing a grin across his lips as he continued to lie before the other bare as the day he was born. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, angel.”

And with a genuine smile, Aziraphale hesitated before kneeling and pressing a gentle kiss to Crowley’s lips, cradling his cheek in his hand. Pulled away too soon, years too soon, and looked into the other’s eyes as he whispered, “I look forward to it.”

Crowley watched him leave, sighing softly as his arm fell over his eyes, succumbing to the world around him and hoping he could become a part of it. Be free from this sweet torture and the much more harsh reality he was forced to return to. Maybe the Earth would swallow him whole, the insects consuming him as the crickets attempted to lull him to sleep.

But like a corpse, he was in a state of neither being awake or asleep, and once again, he craved death as a child their mother. And a corpse, he decided if he stayed here long enough, he would become.

-

For about 60 years shy of 6000 years, Aziraphale had been entirely and utterly loyal to God and Her ineffable plan. With his body (issued to him by heaven in the Beginning), heart, and soul, he was Her most loyal servant with only one thing wavering his undying faith.

Crowley, of course, but he had known that since the day they met in the garden of Eden, even if Crowley was no longer aware of it.

Part of the ineffable plan, Gabriel had told him months ago now, both angels watching in the darkened room as Crowley screamed, the sound foreign to his lover’s ears. How they managed to draw that sound out of him was something Aziraphale would never forget, not even after time ended and neither Heaven, Hell, or whatever rested between existed. Especially because it was entirely Aziraphale’s fault that Crowley’s memory had to be wiped, casting him onto Earth with false memories implanted into his mind, none of them including Aziraphale or the fact that he was a demon. A fallen angel.

Aziraphale’s lover.

All his fault, he thought to himself as he stretched his wings, glancing at Crowley with vision extending further than that of a mortal. Through the trees to where the demon, his love, hadn’t moved an inch. Was hardly even dressed, torso still bare and the pants hanging low on his hips loose with his belt unbuckled. Staring up at a sky he couldn’t see through the thick branches, glaring up at the Heavens even further above. As if he knew something was amiss, knowing that his world wasn’t what they claimed it to be.

And by God, the fact that their eternity was shortened, Crowley turned mortal, and their past banished from the former-demon’s mind was all Aziraphale’s fault. So with nothing to do until the next time he was to meet with Crowley in secret - on Sundays when, like the world She created, God rested and wasn’t watching her creatures below - Aziraphale flew off into the night whispering softly to himself.

_My fault, my own damn fault._

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first (and most likely the last but the jury’s still out on that) good omens fic i’ve ever written! even better is that i’ve never even read one, so i have no idea if the characters were portrayed okay.
> 
> def recommend listening to hozier’s first album if you have not. that is what the inside of crowley’s brain sounds like in this entire fic, and honestly, smart of him.
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed :)


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